Unsent (2)

Dear K.,

I actually shuddered when I saw that email from you last year. The note that told me about the arrival of your new daughter. I’m sorry to say I’ve forgotten her name. Edith? Emma? Something with an E.

I paused after reading it, unsure what to do with this information. I remember being perfectly still for a minute or two. Should I delete the email? Should I reply with proclamations of congratulations and good wishes? Should I recommence a relationship that I had so deliberately terminated not once, not twice, but three times?

In the note, you said something like, “I thought you’d like to know”. You were right. I do like knowing. You even included a picture of your baby, for which I was grateful. You’d been trying to conceive for some time and I was relieved that you and your doting husband finally had a baby to complete your family. You are and will be wonderful parents. I am certain of it.

But still, I was paralyzed with my dilemma. I kept the email for a few days, returning to it once or twice in my indecision. Admiring the child. Smiling at your boundless consideration. Hedging.

At last, I deleted it. A few weeks later, I changed my email address. I didn’t want to be found. I didn’t want to be confronted with those decisions again. I still don’t.

The circumstances surrounding what I now refer to as “our break up” were probably never clear to you, and for that I am sorry. I remember the similar struggle you had with Becky lo those many years ago, and I have always hated myself a little bit for abandoning you in the same way that I once condemned Becky for doing. But at least my self-hate is kept at bay with the knowledge of your expanding companionships that took place as I disappeared.

I met them once, remember? Your replacement friends. It was visiting after the second break up, make up. After our friendship had deteriorated to infrequent get-togethers and frequent tension. We hit the town with Gina (was that her name?) and the rest of your work buddies. It was all manicures and husbands and families that night – topics I wasn’t capable of discussing with any amount of intelligence. I stood outside of the bubble, feeling like interference of harmony. Like I was a pin that could burst the happiness with just the right degree of pressure. I realized then that you didn’t need me anymore. I was thrilled. You had found a group of people who better suited your needs. At last, I could disappear into the abyss. The previous breakup had been the final nail in the coffin. The following, the final burial.

It’s strange, now that I think of it. Almost like releasing a child into the world. Or maybe just a part of myself that I’d outgrown. And I don’t mean that in a derogatory way, as if I’d out-matured you. As if I grew up and you stood still. It wasn’t you at all. It was the person that I became around you.

And now, over a decade after the first break up pre-college when you tracked me down and insisted I remain your friend even though I was moving a few hundred miles away. Years after our second break-up which left you (and your mother, who never forgave me) confused, hurt, and altogether angry. And now, several months and lifetimes after what will almost certainly be our final breakup. Here we are, virtual strangers who once knew every detail of the other’s life.

We got competitive. Don’t deny it. You know we did. Materially competitive. Emotionally competitive. My endless chaos against your endless stability. My copious uprootings and replantings against your decade with the same Fortune 100. My countless boyfriends and ideas and struggles against your spouse and linearity and comfort. The judgment I felt from you was subtle compared to the judgment I felt for you. Which makes sense. Subtlety was your way, compared to my very in-your-face way about the world.

Eventually, the mountains between us became difficult to climb. Our lifestyles were so divergent, our attitudes so different. Then one day, I found myself judging you too much. Your methods, your opinions, your lifestyle. And, in turn, judging myself and hating myself a little bit (more).

When I realized what was happening, I just wanted it to end and the only way to do that was to remove the source of my judgment. My competition. Or so it seemed at the time, since I only became that disapproving person around you. Since I didn’t become a person I hated around anyone else.

I do think about you. I hope you’re still light-hearted. I hope your child lights up your life and you hers. I sometimes wish things hadn’t reached the breaking point, but I also know that now it would be too difficult to move forward without regurgitating the same old struggles. Even if I was willing to reconnect and you were willing to let me, there’s probably too much muck sticking to our shoes from that mountain behind us to make it possible to move forward. And we both deserve better than that. And you certainly deserve a better friend than I am capable of being to you.

But I do want to thank you for your forgiveness after the first and second break up make up. And for sending the photo of your child. And for being such a source of laughter for all those years when I spent too much time hating myself to appreciate its worth.

I will be ever grateful for the invisible ways our friendship shaped us.